A Very Happy New Year
by Beth Rose Harker
Summary: The March family (and Laurie) share a cozy New Year's Eve.


"We're all so cozy and sociable tonight," gushed Amy. "It seems almost a pity to let this year expirate." She was presiding over the bowl of oranges that Laurie had brought over, and in a fit of generosity, she handed one out to each of her sisters as well as their benefactor, before plunging her little fingers deep into the center of her own, so that she might peel it.

Jo, even with her considerable literary leanings, has never encountered the word 'expirate' before. Nonetheless, she found it easy, just this once, to overlook Amy's mistake, and nod in agreement with her youngest sister. The evening was indeed so cozy as to be idyllic, between the company, the snow outside, and the clock on the wall that counted down the minutes until 1865 could rightfully begin.

There weren't so many of those minutes, for it was already 11:36. For Beth, who was wrapped in blankets and sandwiched comfortably between Marmee and Meg, it was getting ever harder to keep awake. Still, she enjoyed the warmth of the room, and the way that the air smelled of crackling fire, chestnut soup, and citrus.

"Do you want to know my favorite New Years' memory?" asked Laurie, whose eyes were lively and sparkling in the low light.

"Mercy me," said Jo. "You mean to be sentimental and say tonight." This earned her a gentle shove from Laurie, who had the advantage of being close enough to poke and prod her as he saw fit, and did not like to miss an opportunity.

"Seeing as today has not yet passed into the realm of memory," Laurie explained, "I can't."

"He's right," agreed Amy. "Tonight is not a memory, because it's happening right now."

"Please go on with your story," said Meg.

"It must be something that happened while you were off gallivanting around Europe," guessed Jo. "I'll do the same one of these days, and come back with such stories to tell. See if I don't."

If not for Marmee's venerable presence, Laurie would have invited Jo to set off for the continent with him right then and there. As things were, he had to settle for a heartfelt, "You will make there one of these days Jo," be launching into his own story.

"I wasn't quite galavanting at that point," Laurie explained. "Or, at least, I was limiting my galavanting ways to my own little home town, back in Italy. At any rate, I lived in a small house there- very homey, and of course I was great friends with all the other little boys who lived on my road. Mother said that I could stay up till midnight for the first time ever, and suggested that when the new year came, we go out to the street, and bang pots and pans so that everybody in the town could wake up and welcome it."

"That's sounds dreadful," said Meg, who did not enjoy loud noises or being woken up in the middle of the night.

"Did the townspeople like it?" asked Beth, sounding as if she might well agree with Meg.

"Did they ever!" said Laurie. "Before long the other children were peaking their heads out of their window to see what the ruckus was about. One little boy came out, and then a girl, until my parents and I were leading an entire procession down the street."

"How splendid!" said Jo. "I can imagine it now, a grand and noisy parade, with you as the pied piper."

Jo took a hearty bite of her orange, only guessing once the fruit was inelegantly jammed in her mouth, how much it had cost Laurie, who hardly ever said so much as a word about his parents, to tell his little story. She reached out to pat Laurie's hand, who squeezed hers back for an instant, before letting go and smiling at their little group.

"Shall we make our resolutions?" asked Marmee. "I want to hear what good plans my girls have for the coming year, and you as well Laurie."

"I mean to improve my drawing," said Amy. "And learn French, among other elegant accomplishments. Also—" and here her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, "I'm afraid I'll have to take up more evenings with that beastly clothes pin of mine, for if I don't fix my nose while I'm still a child, I fear I shall always be stuck with the one I have."

This sent Jo into fits of laughter, so that Meg was forced to scold both her and Amy, one for her vanity, and the other for her lack of tact.

"Can you imagine if we could change our features as easily as one can change those of a portrait we are drawing?" asked Laurie. "We'd hardly know each other anymore, as we kept abreast of the latest fashion, showing up with high Roman noses one day, and adorable button noses like yours the next."

"I'd draw myself an Adam's apple and a beard, and lose no time in running outside to enjoy my new freedom," said Jo. "Only I haven't got much skill in art, and I'm afraid I'd come out of the experience looking like a child's stick figure, with a hedgehog stuck to my chin."

"I rather think I'd draw myself stronger," said Beth sleepily, as she rested her head on Marmee's shoulder. This silenced everybody for a moment.

"Children," said Marmee, reaching up a hand to stroke Beth's hair. "We mustn't sit here disparaging the features that God gave us, for he is the greatest artist of all. And as for you, my dear, I'm certain you will get stronger as the year progresses."

"You can have my last orange," said Amy, placing it in Beth's hand, who did not say anything, but blushed uncomfortably, at having called so much attention to herself.

"My resolutions never change from year to year," said Jo. "I'll improve my writing, and more importantly, improve my temper. Seems I made some progress in the last year, but it always does flare up just when I think I've beaten it down."

"We can't expect any great task to be accomplished overnight," said Marmee, who understood better than anyone what Jo was talking about. "And mastery of ourselves is one of the most difficult tasks that we all face. I'm proud of you for recognizing the enormity of what you are doing, and refusing to give up."

"Oh, I'll plod on with my bundle on my back till the end of time," said Jo. "Nothing else to be done."

"Besides write words of genius and become a famous authoress," said Laurie.

"That is another task I'll chip away at as long as I have breath in my lungs," said Jo, who couldn't help her beaming grin at Laurie's praise.

"I want to be patient and have faith in the new year," said Meg. "I have never been so happy as the day that I agreed to marry John Brooke, but waiting for him to come back from the war so that we might begin our lives is the most difficult thing I've done. The news of all that happens out there frightens me so, that I haven't been as involved as I should be with efforts here at home, to make sure that our soldiers have what they need, and as many comforts as possible."

Here Meg took a deep breath, and squared her shoulders, looking very noble and brave as she blinked back tears in the low light. Though nobody could have wished more than Meg that John Brooke could be there in the room celebrating with them, at that moment everybody felt singularly aware of his absence.

"Well," said Amy, after a few moments of respectful silence had passed. "We've not heard from Laurie and Beth yet, and we're down to the very last minute."

"Oh, I'll toil over my studies and apply to Harvard to please grandfather," said Laurie dismissively.

"And to please yourself, I hope," said Jo.

"I don't have any resolutions," said Beth. "But I'll be very happy to watch the rest of you reach yours."

At that moment, the clock on the wall struck midnight with a deep chime. Any seriousness or melancholy was lost in the great whoop that Jo let out, and which Laurie was quick to take up. There were kisses and handshakes all around (including an awkward mix of both between Laurie and Jo), and then Beth shrugged out of her nest of blankets, and walked over to her piano (as she had been waiting all night to do) to play Auld Lang Syn. Thus 1865 started merrily as all years should, with singing, family, friendship, and bright hopes for the future.


End file.
